Why the black dress and the pink lace bra and matching thong panties? She would normally have worn black undergarments with a dark coloured dress, but...here she was, catering to the specific desires of a faceless man, the underwire of her bra digging into the soft flesh beneath each arm. Why the ivory stockings? That was a mystery. She certainly wouldn’t have chosen ivory stockings to go with a black dress herself, but she wasn’t really picking out clothes for herself, was she? She was picking. ” I felt a strong hand grab my hair and yank it back.“What did you say bitch?” a strong male voice demanded. It was her husband.“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “I’m just so itchy, sir,” remembering his wife’s instructions. He released my hair.“She used the powder on you, didn’t she,” he said laughing. “Believe it or not, that means she likes you.”“If you say so sir,” I responded, but had a hard time believing it.“Why are you here, boy?” he demanded.“I have a tiny, puny pindick, and I need to get. As the title of this story indicates, she was - indeed - an Indian princess (BTW: that's Eastern Indian, as in India). Her smile was great to see, and I warmed up inside immediately. Why? I had flown on one of her flights a few months ago. The flight was only about 1/2 full, and I had 1st row seating. The flight attendant seat is quite close to the 1st row, so conversation was pretty easy when she wasn't busy.Coincidentally, when we deplaned, each of us went our separate ways. I stopped at a. We had gone out to dinner with friends in Joburg, CJ was dressed in a black wrap dress and black strap on heals and as always never had any panties on. We had had some wine with dinner and were both a little tipsy and as soon as we left the restaurant, CJ had slipped out of her bra, tossing it into the back seat of the car. Driving home on the highway back to Pretoria, I had caressed her neck and loosened her dress to reveal her tits. Their perkiness was showcased by the street lighting..